What Hat Do You Wear? by Betsy Ashton

I've recently read a beta copy of a new coming-of-age book by a debut writer. He wrote a sentence that caught my attention and won't let go: "Try on as many hats as you like until you find one that fits. That’s the one you’ll wear the rest of your life."

The story goes on to talk about the hat you wear in public and the hat you were in private. The one you wear in public is what you do, your job, your role in society, your role in family, etc. The hat you wear in private is the one that guides your heart.

I personally wore many public hats: wife, teacher, student, consultant, et al. Each hat held a special place in my development, but by themselves, they weren't enough. Don't get me wrong. My wife hat is the most satisfying one of all. I've worn it for over 35 years. The teacher hat didn't last as long as I'd hoped, not that I wasn't qualified, but I sought college-level teaching positions right about the time President Nixon (remember him? Tricky Dick?) cut federal aid to education and jobs vaporized.

The consultant hat began after the teacher hat blew away. I held a series of ultimately well-paid positions in several companies over 30 years. I enjoyed my work, but I never defined myself as a consultant for Blap Consultancy. Never to myself or to people I met. It was a job that became a career but was never a passion.

After one egregious day when the moon was transiting Planet Poop, when my colleagues were cranky, and when the client was crankier yet, I curled up in my hotel room immediately after a dinner-for-one and dragged out my laptop. Before I knew it, I'd written a short story about the day, complete with outrageous behavior and a protagonist that had to be me...

I was hooked. I'd found my hat, and a very private hat it was indeed. I wrote early in the morning before we had to be onsite at the client's offices, after hours, on airplanes, at home. I wrote every spare minute I could find. I wrote an office romance that still sits in cyberdust, although I think I'll resurrect it. I feel more capable of trimming it and underwriting it (yup, too much purple prose and too many mechanics of sex) now. 

I wrote a saga about the women who form the core relationships with family and friends. That's way too long (350K words), but I designed it as a trilogy. It may yet see the light of day in a vastly trimmed-down version.

While I was still working, I began the query process and racked up 109 rejection letters from agents. Guess they knew my books needed serious help. I found a sympathetic agent who helped shape my first publishable novel. When she asked if I was thinking about this as a series, I paused a few beats too long.

"Of course, you are," she said. "Of course, I am," I replied. She told me to write brief synopses for two additional books--"a paragraph or two is enough"--and them back to her as soon as possible.

And thereupon, the course of my passion was clear. I was to be an author. I was to write and publish. I was announce to the world that I was a serious author. I was to wear that author hat proudly and loudly.

What hat do you wear?

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Betsy Ashton is the author of Mad Max Unintended Consequences and Uncharted Territory, A Mad Max Mystery. She has a new short story, "Midnight in the Church of the Holy Grape," in 50 Shades of Cabernet. Her works have appeared in several anthologies and on NPR.

A Woman's Role by Diane Burton

When my mother was growing up, a woman’s role was pretty much cut in stone. She graduated from high school, got married, had kids, and took care of her home and family. If her family was wealthy enough, she went to college after high school, then the rest followed. It was relatively rare that a woman had a career. If she didn’t get married, she worked as a secretary, telephone operator, maybe a nurse or teacher. If her family/husband were well-to-do, she had Junior League and her volunteer work. Her life was planned out for her.

During World War II, women were told to step up. Remember Rosie the Riveter? What about A League of Their Own about women’s professional baseball? Women had to do “men’s” work because the guys were off fighting a war. When the men returned, it was “get back to the kitchen, ladies, you’re not needed anymore.” I often wondered how those women felt. They’d gotten independence, earned a good living, then—wham!—back to the old ways. I would've resented the heck out of it.

Television in the 1950s showed what life was like for a woman. Father Knows Best, June Cleaver, Harriet Nelson. Mom wore an apron and high heels while keeping an immaculate home.

Everything changed in the 1960s. Women decided to plan their own lives. Many of those who came of age in the 60s were torn, confused. We’d been taught (by our mother’s example, television, etc.) a certain way of life then expected by our peers to raise our sights higher. As if raising a family wasn’t enough. As if that job had no value.

I certainly don’t want to return to the days of my mother. Where women had no choices. What is great about these days is choice. Our careers are unlimited. Want to be an astronaut? Go for it. Want to be a teacher? It’s your decision. If you want to be a stay-at-home mom, your choice.

When my daughter was growing up, I taught her she could be anything she wants. As my granddaughters grow up, I hope their opportunities will be even greater.

Diane Burton writes romantic adventure . . . stories that take place on Earth and beyond. She blogs here on the 8th and 30th of each month and on Mondays on her own site: http://dianeburton.blogspot.com/

Choices and Consequences by Diane Burton

Our lives are fashioned by our choices. First we make our choices. Then our choices make us. ~ Anne Frank

One of the hardest things for a parent is to teach children that choices have consequences. Too often we want to protect them by preventing them from making a poor choice or bailing them out of a bad situation. From the time my grandchildren started climbing, my daughter’s frequent refrain was “make a better choice” instead of “don’t do this” or “don’t touch that.” And when they continued anyway, she told them “as a consequence” they had time out.

A better choice. And consequences. The choices we make—whether consciously or unconsciously—affect us in ways we cannot imagine. Not doing something is a choice. Little, everyday decisions accumulate and have consequences. When my husband changed jobs or was transferred, things happened fast. He went to work in the new town, leaving me behind to put a house of for sale. Putting off painting the front hall, repairing that screen door from the dog’s claws, and other household chores caught up. Should have made a better choice.

At the end of February, we had all the documents needed for taxes. Past history told me “corrected” documents could come in March. So I kept putting off gathering all the info to take to our tax person. Did I consciously make a decision not to work on taxes? Nope. I was preoccupied with my newest WIP. Writing about space adventures was much more interesting than gathering medical expenses or figuring out business miles. Avoidance was a choice. And the consequences were that last week I scrambled to get ready for Friday’s appointment.

Procrastination is my middle name. Granted, I work better under deadlines. It’s amazing how much I can get done when I have to. Not so amazing is that I could have done things ahead of time—like the taxes. Procrastination is a choice. Choices have consequences.

As I write this post, a line from a Robert Frost poem kept swirling around in my head. This ending from “The Road Not Taken” is perfect choice on which to end this post.

“Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.”

Diane Burton writes romantic adventure . . . stories that take place on Earth and beyond. She blogs here on the 8th and 30th of each month and on Mondays on her own site: http://dianeburton.blogspot.com/